Part Two: the Redemption
by Foxsword
Summary: Part two: Part one, if you didn't know, is titled "Part One: The Betrayal" I would suggest you read the first part, or you won't understand the second part. In this story, three young Jedi who escape Order 66 try to find a new life.
1. The Merc

Chapter One**The Merc**

As Prymax made his way through the crowds of Coruscant lowlifes toward one of the many cantinas in the undercity, he reviewed everything over in his head. Jenyin and Reyzeb were safe in the parked speeder, ready to take off at a signal from him if necessary. Prymax had left it to Jenyin to tell Reyzeb about Meraven's death; being sympathetic and comforting people were not on the list of his strong points. A brief image flashed through his mind of his friend, lying on the floor of the Jedi Temple, using the last of her dying strength to give him her lightsaber as a token of trust. He had called Meraven his vod'ika, his little sister… Thinking about Meraven brought on an aching feeling in his chest, but he quickly pushed that aside and turned instead to the task at hand.

The Snapping Septoid was one of the more famous cantinas in the Uscru district, meaning that it attracted a wide variety of customers, from uppercity diplomats to lowlife death stick dealers. As Prymax scanned the occupants of the cantina, a scantily clad female turned to wink at him and smile provocatively. Prymax ignored her; he wasn't looking for pleasure tonight - or any other night, for that matter. He was looking for a spacer.

As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he scanned the motley crowd for possible pilots-for-hire. He already had in mind the type he needed: someone who was not prone to being drunk (as too many spacers often were), could keep his mouth closed, asked no questions, and, above all that, didn't require much pay. Looking around, however, he realized that half of the people there didn't even fit in the first category; the majority of the beings there looked at least a little drunk. He began walking in the direction of the bar, hoping the bartender on duty would be able to recommend someone for the job.

The bar was packed with people, and Prymax saw that it would be difficult to get the busy bartender's attention unless he bought a drink. Just as he tapped the shoulder of one of the people seated at the bar to ask if she could make room for him, something whipped around and lashed him in the face.

Prymax, caught off guard, staggered back and bumped into a large hairy being who cursed and shouted roughly, "Hey, watch it!"

After muttering a quick "sorry," Prymax turned back to locate what had just hit him, hoping that the offending person was not looking for a fight.

He found, to his surprise, a very apologetic-looking human, quite unlike the hulking beast he had disturbed earlier. "Oh, I am so sorry; my hair must have whipped you when I turned around." It was the being he had tapped earlier. In the poor lighting, Prymax could make out only a few of her features. Her wild-looking hair was tied in a long ponytail – which did look rather like a many-stranded whip – but frizzy stray strands which caught the light formed almost a halo around her head. She was short, almost a full head shorter than him, and wiry-looking, even though she couldn't be any older than seventeen. Her mouth was set in a sheepish smile.

When she actually saw clearly whom she had struck, though, her expression changed quickly. Emotions flashed across her face and, Prymax felt, in the Force, as if she was trying to decide which one to use: First surprised recognition, then anger, and then a strange sly look. Her face finally settled back into the friendly smile it had worn earlier.

Prymax was slightly disconcerted at the quick emotion changing, but he sensed that now was as good a time as any to ask for information, so he asked her, "Do you know where I can find a spac-"

She obviously hadn't heard him speak in the noise of the cantina, because she cut in swiftly with "You know what? Let me buy you a drink to make it up to you for hitting you." She motioned briskly for the bartender, said quickly "Ne'tra gal," and held up two fingers. He nodded, and in a few seconds was back with two glasses of the spicy-sweet black ale that was a favorite of Mandalorians. She handed one to a rather surprised Prymax and walked to a more secluded booth in the corner, motioning for him to follow. Prymax noticed that all her motions were with mercurial speed, yet she maintained a smoothness throughout, never spilling a drop while moving through the crowd. He vaguely remembered that someone he knew had this sort of motion, but he couldn't remember who.

Once comfortably seated at the small booth, the girl took a long sip of her drink. Prymax chose to observe her face in the better light. The girl had dark eyes like his own, but, unlike his opaque mask, her eyes were alive with emotions. Prymax had a nagging thought in the back of his mind that he had seen her somewhere before…

Noticing that he hadn't touched his and was instead intently studying her face, she said with a smile, "Drink up! You know what they say: _Ne'tra gal mesh'la, jat'isyc, bal, wayii, jahaal'got! _Black ale looks good, tastes good, and – by golly – it does you good."

Prymax was again taken aback by this sudden burst of Mando'a, the language of his people. Was he really being that obvious? "What makes you think I'm Mando'ade?" he asked.

She shrugged. "It's pretty easy to tell. Mandalorians have this air about them that makes them different, and certain things that tip you off; you know, things like holding your chin higher than others, cold, passive looks, wary eyes…" She broke off to do an exaggerated imitation of a Mandalorian that made Prymax smile dryly.

Calming down a bit, she said, "So what can I do for you?" and then, almost as an afterthought, "The name, by the way, is Alanti. Alanti Sharpe, to be precise. What's yours?"

Prymax started to say his name, and then caught himself. "Atin," he said, giving her his surname.

Alanti frowned quizzically, and then her expression changed to one of laughter. "'Stubborn?' Your name means 'stubborn'?"

"That's not exactly what it means. Basic is so… basic."

At this, Alanti laughed again.

"More accurately, I'd say it means 'tenacious,'" he finished, though he was not really paying much attention; he was at the moment somewhat preoccupied. So, this girl not only knows Mandalorian phrases, she can also translate the language. He frowned; not many _aruetiise,_ foreigners, could understand Mando'a. "How is it that you know Mando'a?" he asked.

Alanti shrugged, "I used to work and occasionally live with some Mando mercs," she said, using the slang term for mercenary. "I picked it up here and there. But back to the topic; what is it that you need?"

"A pilot," Prymax replied shortly. Then, realizing that it probably was not enough information for Alanti, he continued, "Three passengers, not much luggage. I need someone dependable, who can keep his mouth shut and won't ask for a lot of money."

After another quick burst of laughter (she laughed often, Prymax noted), Alanti grinned. "This must be your lucky day, because you're looking at your pilot."

Prymax felt a sense of unease. There was a whole list of reasons not to taker her on. She was too young, she knew too much, and words seem to flow from her mouth as easily as _gal_ from a _buy'ce_. Still, with the meager amount of money he had to offer, she might be the only person who might be willing to take the assignment. He decided to let the Force decide.

Covering his motive by taking a long swig of his drink, he reached out to Alanti's mind with the Force. He felt nothing particularly unusual about her, and certainly no Dark Side feelings. Actually, he sensed many good things: confidence, quick-mindedness, and maturity beyond her years. But there were two things that concerned him. One, he felt an undercurrent of intent, something he could not quite place, but he assumed she had ulterior motives. At least she wasn't openly hostile. Two, he realized that she was at least somewhat Force-sensitive. Her Force presence stirred a memory, but before he could grasp it, it had slipped away again. He decided not to pay it much attention; many people he knew had similar Force presences.

Finally putting down his glass, Prymax asked, "How many credits do you want?" He winced when he heard the number. They bartered back and forth for a few minutes, until Prymax had lowered it to a price he thought he could pay. Alanti had been surprisingly easy on him; so he decided to push it farther.

"I don't have any money on me, but I do own a speeder that's worth way more than your price. Would you be willing to take that as pay?"

Alanti frowned, thinking. "I'll need to see it first, and even then, no guarantees."

"You will accept the speeder and nothing more," Prymax gestured slightly with his hand to attract her attention as he attempted a Force mind trick.

Alanti got up from her seat. "Don't try any tricks on me" - she abruptly leaned forward and whispered in his ear – "Master Jedi." Just as quickly, she returned to her former position, leaning back with the smug smile of someone who had just won a game of sabacc against impossible odds.

That was it. Her trump card was on the table. Now Prymax had to take her; she knew he was a Jedi. With Contingency Order 66 in play, the Jedi's hopes of survival dangled on a single thread, and Alanti was holding the scissors. He had only two options; he could kill her, or he could hire her and work out what to do with her later. He opted for the latter.

He feigned calmness over his defeat, and rose from his seat as well. His face was a cold mask, and his tone of speech suddenly became formal. Instead of admitting his defeat with an "Okay, you've got the job," he skipped forward.

"I'll take you to the speeder now, if you don't mind. I'd like to get this done as soon as possible."

"Certainly, I understand." As they walked out together to meet with Jenyin and Reyzeb, Alanti smiled secretly to herself. The job was secured. Soon, she would be able to achieve her own goals.


	2. Preparations

Chapter Two**Preparations**

As the two navigated through the night crowds, weaving their way towards the parking lot where Prymax had landed the promised speeder, Alanti kept up a constant stream of talk, with very little _real _information about her.

"Atin sounds like one of those mando names with a story behind it. Where'd you get it?"

He thought for a second, then answered with a vague, "You don't want to know."

She laughed brightly, and then, with a serious expression, said, "Try me."

He frowned slightly, rather annoyed at her prying, but gave her a brief summary of his story. "During one of my missions during the war, I ignored my master's orders in order to wait for one of the clone squads under my command. They had been cut off from our drop ship for some time, and had just commed that they were on their way. My master said that we had to leave now, or we'd all be killed, but I threatened to ground the ship permanently if we didn't wait. The clones made it, and so did we. My master relented, but called me 'Atin' from then on. Guess it stuck."

"Really! So that's why your name is 'stubborn.'" She flashed another easy smile, but it soon disappeared. "I don't know where my name came from," she replied, almost to herself. "My parents died before they could tell me." For a moment, her face grew dark and her eyes clouded. There was rage in her, Prymax felt, rage seemingly too huge for someone that young. It was disturbing, and he suddenly doubted whether he had made the right choice in hiring this strange kid. She seemed to know too much, about them _and_ about life.

He looked at her to find that she had returned again to her normal expression, only her eyes were sad. She noticed his stare, and smiled to break the awkwardness. "But that's nothing. Having family and friends would only complicate business anyway."

He ventured to ask a question. "How long have you been working…like this?"

"Oh, I don't know. A few years, I suppose."

_Not good enough. _"What did you do before that?"

"Worked in a shop, making deliveries. I got bored, and decided that this life was more fun. And it is."

It was at best a half-truth, he sensed. He had no trouble believing that she got bored, but making deliveries was a lie. Everyone had something to hide, and, it was best not to reveal too much if you were a spacer. Or a fugitive.

They reached the speeder. While Prymax knocked on the glass to wake up the dozing Jenyin, Alanti looked it over quickly. "It'll do," she said. "A bit dull, but nothing a bit of paint won't fix."

She insisted on driving "her" speeder, and Prymax had to remind her that it wasn't hers until she got them to their destination.

She laughed again, and gave her name to Jenyin and Reyzeb – strangely, she didn't bother asking theirs - as she turned on the engine. Then everyone was flung back into their seats as she hurled the speeder into the blur of nighttime traffic.

"Where are we going?" Jenyin asked.

"You guys can spend the night at my place, before we set out tomorrow morning," Alanti replied quickly, not taking her eyes off the busy lanes. "I have to get some supplies from home, anyway. Hey!"

A taxi had just cut across them, and she yelled a few colorful swear words at the hulking driver, who turned and growled something obscene back.

Alanti's eyes glowed, whether with anticipation or anger, Jenyin couldn't tell. "Hang on, guys!" she called as she sharply pulled up into the lane above.

Prymax yelled, "What are you-"

Then the world suddenly turned upside-down as the speeder flipped 180 degrees and made a beeline for the offending taxi. The man in the back of the taxi screamed like a woman, the taxi driver cursed, Jenyin yelled something and closed his eyes, and Alanti laughed exultantly.

When Jenyin opened his eyes again, the speeder was perfectly level, driving normally – if you could call Alanti's speed-and-dodge techniques normal – inside a completely different traffic lane. The only signs that anything unusual had happened were that Alanti was still chuckling about the "look on his face," and Prymax looked unusually pale.

Jenyin grumbled something about having fun at someone else's expense, but inside he was anxious about the taxi.

"Don't worry; I never kill in my jokes," Alanti answered his unspoken question. "I was just paying him back with a good scare."

"_Just _paying him back?" Jenyin asked in a voice dripping sarcasm.

"He was in my way. You really don't know anything about life outside your little Temple, do you?'

Jenyin turned his head away, ignoring Alanti's ceaseless chatter, and didn't speak for the rest of the trip. Prymax still listened, but with only half his mind. The other half was thinking of the longer journey ahead.

After landing the speeder near an abandoned junkyard, Alanti led the group through a series of back alleys and into a building, through a dimly lit hallway, and to the door at the very end. She pressed a button on the panel beside the door and spoke into it impatiently. "PJ, it's Alanti. Open up already."

A tinny voice answered back, "Who are the others? New friends, or new hostages?"

"You know I don't make friends. And if they were hostages, they would be unconscious."

"So what are they?"

Alanti kicked at the door in frustration. "They're passengers: satisfied?"

"Alright, alright. Just asking."

The door slid back to reveal a small room with very little furniture. There were three more doors, the two open ones apparently leading to a bedroom and a storage room. The third was closed.

"You guys can sleep over there," she said, pointing towards the closed door, "and Reyzeb can sleep in my room. I'll take the couch tonight, and wake you early tomorrow so we can get a head start and avoid any morning traffic…or interrogation." She flashed a knowing smile before turning around to yell, "PJ! Get over here!"

The droid that bustled out of the storage room at her call glided gracefully above the ground on repulsorlift engines, but its upper body seemed to be a collection of many different parts, all of which were mismatched in color and size. Here was an android's arm, there an R2 unit's eye, and from somewhere behind it lashed a mechanized tentacle like a tail. The screen that served as its mouth was set in a genial grin.

"Hi," came a shockingly boyish voice from the towering droid. "I'm P1J47, but you can call me PJ. And you would be…?"

"I'm Atin, and this is Jalek and Reyan," Prymax said, making up names on the spot for Jenyin and Reyzeb.

"Great to meet you," PJ replied, pointing his android arm gun at "Jalek" Jenyin, who instinctively ducked down.

"Whoops, wrong hand!" PJ's mouth turned to apologetic smile. He offered his tentacle tail, which apparently also served as an arm, and Jenyin shook it cautiously.

Prymax declined the handshake, simply nodding his head in recognition of the greeting. A wan smile touched Reyzeb's lips when PJ bowed graceful to her, then nearly toppled over, unbalanced.

"That's what the tail is for, you dimwit!" Alanti cried out, exasperated. "I put it on for you to balance yourself, not to shake hands." She gave his tail a good yank to set him upright.

"Oops, sorry," he grinned again sheepishly and excused himself to "practice balancing myself." A few seconds later, a crash came from the storage room, and Alanti rolled her eyes.

Alanti did a quick cleanup of her room, throwing the junk on her bed haphazardly into random metal drawers, and showed her visitors where the bathroom was. "Oh, and before I forget," she said, opening one of many closets in the spare room, "all of you will have to get rid of your Jed – your outfits. You look like monks compared to what people are wearing these days."

In a few minutes, outfits had been chosen for Jenyin and Reyzeb: a red robe of Ramordian silk, and a gossamer white chaughaine gown.

"Exactly what are we dressed for? Some formal dance?" Jenyin asked a bit acidly.

"No, not quite. But you're going to be one the idle rich, about to go on a pleasant journey to some faraway vacation spot. Reyan here will be your…uh, female companion."

"_Female companion?_" Jenyin's face turned red as his outfit, and Reyzeb looked slightly less turquoise and slightly more pink.

"Relax," Alanti said through her laughter. "It's only until we reach my ship. I have more suitable clothes there, and you can bring your Jedi outfits with you; I don't think people pay much attention to Order 66 in…wherever you're going. Atin, where exactly do you want me to take you guys?" She asked the question rather loudly, as Atin had disappeared while she had been outfitting the other two.

He came out of Alanti's bedroom, holding something in his hands. "Whose is this?" he asked.

It was a Mandalorian helmet, the kind that his people often wore. The distinctive T-shaped visor gleamed in the light, but the paint and metal were tarnished and dull, so that you could no longer see what color it had been originally.

"Oh, that one is – _was _my friend's…" Alanti said, her voice dying away. She took the helmet from him and studied it with a far-off look for a few moments. The look of sadness and rage in her eyes resurfaced, causing Prymax to feel uneasy.

She blinked, and it was gone. "He's dead now, but, come to think of it, that would make a good disguise for you. A complete different look from a Jedi, with no face to recognize, more than enough defense mechanisms; no one would think that a Jedi-hunting, killing-with-bare-hands Mandalorian would _be_ a Jedi…" As she rattled on, she ran into the other room and came out with the rest of the armor, which was also dull and tarnished. "Try it on."

Prymax examined the armor. He disliked using another Mando'ad's beskar'gam, even if the man was dead; it was an insult to himself… but his pride would have to wait. Once they got to Mandalore, he'd get his own set made, then maybe trace the old owner via the faded clan sigils on the helmet and return it.

He sighed, not bothering to disguise his dislike for the idea, shrugged, and said, "I guess it'll do. I'll get my own later." _May whatever unlucky _chakaare_ that owned this before me find his rest in the Manda._

After he had gone into the other room and locked the door, he picked up the flightsuit; black meant justice, he thought with approval, and it was a color he decided to keep once he got his own. His Jedi robes he folded and, after a few seconds of reflection, left them under the bed; he wouldn't need them anymore.

Changing his mind, he took them back out. No sense in leaving clues all over the place, and it was probably better to destroy the evidence. He pulled on a pair of black gription coated gloves, took his and Meraven's lightsabers out, and put them on the bed. Removing his boots, he pulled out two brand-new Westar-34 blaster pistols encased in black leather holsters, and placed them next to the lightsabers on the bed. He had taken them once he sensed the Temple was under attack. They were his only other possessions besides the lightsabers. He'd bought them without his master's knowledge, and kept them with him since…

He suddenly realized that he'd always wanted to get away to Mandalore. One other Jedi had done it, a short time before; Bardan Jusik, who had left with two Mandos named Kal Skirata and Walon Vau, or so he'd heard. He made a mental note to find them when he got there; Jusik would be sure to understand their situation. He was probably in hiding himself.

He gathered up the weapons from the bed and walked out. The others were where he'd left them, but they, too, had changed into their new clothes. Reyzeb still was not entirely happy with being Jenyin's "Female Companion" and they continued their discourse, as Prymax proceeded to put on the armor on plate by plate, starting with his legs and torso. He holstered the blasters on his thigh plates and hooked the two lightsabers on the equipment belt. This would add to his image; no one would expect a trophy-taking Mando who had obviously killed at least two Jedi to be a Jedi himself.

After finishing with the armor, he checked his weapons. On the belt, several power pack pouches for the blasters, which he filled; a small grappling hook attached to the end of a thin fibercord; stun grenades; thermal detonators with a pouch filled with detonite clay, thermal tape, dets, and other demolition tools; emergency rations to last a week; a series of security blades in a small pouch, a lock overriding system; and a data breaker. This was turning out to be quite useful…

Each boot held a tiny hold-out blaster, and each gauntlet concealed two knives. A wrist laser was built into the right arm, and next to the barrel of laser was a small winch-operated fibercord whip with another grappling hook. He swung on the jetpack, strapping it tightly, and carefully hooked the fuel line into the miniature flame projector nozzle port on his left arm. The Kelvarex mini concussion rocket launcher beneath it would fire either the anti-personnel or the stun rocket.

On the top of the jetpack was another rocket, a Merr-Sonn 1126. He whistled softly in admiration; those things packed a punch, and cost a fortune… he certainly had made the right choice to take the armor, pride or not.

He glanced down at his kneepads; they contained small dart launchers for Malkite themfar, FEX-M3, molecular acid, stun agents, or explosive tips: an impressive array indeed. Quite satisfied that he'd found all the weapons on his armor, he reached down and picked up the last piece of the set, the helmet.

The Mandos and clones called it their "bucket" or, in Mando'a, buy'ce. He placed it over his head, and sealed the collar with a hiss. He looked over at a tiny red light in the upper right-hand corner and rapidly blinked twice. His field of vision came alive with flashing lights and read-outs, and beeps and chimes filled his ears as his heads-up display, or HUD, came online.

A nauseating dizzy sensation washed over him as his vision changed to 360 degrees. He swayed and almost fell, then let the force guide him, and tried a few steps. After the initial stumbles, he managed to walk almost as well as a drunkard.

"If you keep it on for a while, you'll get used to it," Alanti commented. His 360 degree vision enabled him to see her laughing at his drunken steps from behind his back. He smiled and realized just how useful all-around vision would be.

Having always used the force to achieve a somewhat "360 degree" view of his surroundings, now actually seeing it wasn't all that different. He had a helmet of his own back at the temple – it had been borrowed two years ago from the Archives for "long-term study" and never returned - so he'd had some experience wearing one. He stamped his armored boots, jumped up and down, rotated his neck to test the seal, and swung his arms through a full range of motion to check the armor.

Jenyin – no, _Jalek _gave a start when the blades in Atin's gauntlets shot out with a satisfying "shing" sound. There were twin retractable vibroblades on the tops and three short, squarish blades that ejected out of the sides. He retracted them, and made sure all his weapons were within easy reach. All the blink-operated controls were working, as well as the range-finder. The various views the helmet possessed - targeting system, night, thermal, and electronic filters - were all in good shape.

_This is perfect, _he thought_._ He glanced over the full suit of armor. Beskar was an extremely hard metal, harder than durasteel, or any other man-made metals. It was even able to withstand a direct hit from a starfighter's cannon, and, with a vacuum-sealed flight suit, it made a Mando'ad virtually invincible. It was truly perfect.

"Glad it suits you," Alanti smiled at him. There was strange look in her eyes, though, as if she was in pain, looking at her friend's armor on someone else. Prymax took off the helmet, and the look passed. "I'll see if I can fix it up for you tomorrow; maybe add some paint and polish."

"Gold, if you can manage," he suggested.

"Right. Alright, children, enough dress-up for today. It's bedtime. I'll be in the main room, if you need me."

She walked out of the room, but stopped at the doorway to ask, "You didn't answer my question earlier; where am I taking you?"

"Mandalore," Atin answered shortly.

"I thought so." She left the room, followed closely by Reyzeb, and closed the door so that the two boys could have privacy.

They didn't say a word to each other, but silently changed back into their Jedi robes – probably for the last time – and climbed into bed, each preoccupied with his own thoughts.

Staring into the darkness, Prymax's thoughts turned from the path ahead to the home he had left behind. The names and faces flashed through his mind: Ali-Alann, Cin Drallig, Olana Chion, Serra Keto, Tru Veld – their blood stained the Temple's floors. His closest friends and sparring partners, Zett Jukassa and Whie Malreaux, were among them. He had watched as Meraven, always the first in action, was cut down by the traitor's hand. All that was left of her was her weapon, entrusted to him along with the lives of his remaining friends. The names of those he knew and loved and the places he had once walked, but would never walk again, throbbed painfully in his head, a death knell that could never be quieted.

He realized Jenyin was thinking the same things as well, when he heard muffled sobs coming from his friend's sleep couch. As tears stung his own eyes and sorrow welled up in his heart, Prymax drifted off into a fitful sleep.


End file.
